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our 1st day of autumn poem


by Mary Oliver






Another year gone, leaving everywhere
its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,


the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
in the shadows, unmattering back


from the particular island
of this summer, this NOW, that now is nowhere


except underfoot, moldering
in that black subterranean castle


of unobservable mysteries – – – roots and sealed seeds
and the wanderings of water. This


I try to remember when time’s measure
painfully chafes, for instance when autumn


flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing
to stay – – – how everything lives, shifting


from one bright vision to another, forever
in these momentary pastures


One response »

  1. there is no spring without autumn…I embrace the soft golden light and pensive gloaming as we settle into the shoulder season with spicy stews and hot bread.


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